


The Voodoo Doll

by TheMadKingTargaryen



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bully, Bullying, Feet, M/M, Magic, Revenge, Tickle torture, Tickling, Victim - Freeform, Voodoo, Witch - Freeform, armpits, barefoot, effigy, sorcery, tickle, ticklish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadKingTargaryen/pseuds/TheMadKingTargaryen
Summary: Ryan Murphy picks up an arcane object to torment his flamboyant and irritating classmate.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. The Witch

There it was. Mama Judi's Arcane Arcade, isolated at the end of the high street, decrepit and ramshackle. The aged wood of its hooded front gave the shop a dark and gloomy appearance, which perfectly matched its reputation. Dark things were said to reside in the shop, insidious artefacts and cursed objects. Even the shop's proprietor had a shady reputation. Mama Judi was said to be a witch, hundreds of years old with unfathomable power at her fingertips, able to work impossible marvels.

Of course, none of these rumours were true (at least not in any way someone could prove) but the old wives tales still had enough influence to make the majority of the residents of Windigo Springs give the shop a very wide berth.

Except Ryan Murphy, who was praying the tales were indeed just tales.

Ryan stood across the street from his destination, bracing himself and steeling his nerves. With a deep breath he crossed the quiet street and entered the shop. A tinkling bell above the door indicated his entrance. The musty smell of a library hit him as soon as he walked in, and the eerie silence of the shop was noticeable from the get go. Floor to ceiling shelves lined the shop in a several twisting paths, each shelf full to the brim of dusty items. Shiny brass kettles, dull lockets, rings with gemstones the size of peas glittering from their metalling bed.

Ryan studied all of these oddities and rarities as he apprehensively made his way to the back of the store, nearly colliding with the shelves a few times in the dim light coming from various sources, the most notable being a golden statue of a screaming monkey clutching a glowing orb proudly above its head.

Ryan swallowed and walked towards the sturdy wooden counter at the back of the store, framed by towering bookshelves filled with aged tomes. Stings of beads concealed what was through the doorframe behind the desk. Not much was on the counter, but there was a bell that had a thick layer of dust on it.

Even though he was increasingly convinced that the shop had been abandoned or something, Ryan tapped the golden bell. A good few moments passed and then a series of rustling, groaning noises emanated from behind the screen and eventually they were parted by someone who could only have been Mama Judi. Hunched in a way that seemed almost impossible she shuffled out in a long white robe, a bejewelled cane in her skeletal hand that was positively covered in shimmering rings and bangles and chains. She was mumbling as she came out. "Motherfucking kids these days got no goddamn respect, goin' on ringing bells an not even sayin' hello first. World's goin' to shit, goddamn." Ryan heard none of it.

Ryan's jaw almost dropped at the appearance of this woman once he could see her clearly. She had deep ebony skin that was wrinkled and creased almost everywhere on her face. Her skin drooped from her neck in a way that was almost comical, hanging in a way that gave her the illusion of jowls. Sunken eyes pressed into her skull, but were magnified greatly by the thick glasses that she wore. She looked aged in a way that could honestly have been from hundreds of years of life, but Ryan definitely caught glimpses of features that indicated Mama Judi had been stunningly beautiful in her past. She licked her lips with a dry tongue and looked up at Ryan with a slightly sarcastic smile. "Hello, boy."

"Hello, madam. Are you Mama Judi?"

"Last time I checked."

"Perfect. I was wondering if—" Ryan began.

"Shush!" Mama Judi scolded suddenly, tutting loudly. "I'm trying to listen..."

Ryan startled but stayed quiet as the old woman closed her wrinkled eyes and looked pensive. Seconds passed.

"I—" Ryan started eventually.

"Boy, shutthefuckup or imma whoop your ass off this astral plane."

Ryan stayed deathly silent until she reopened her eyes and licked her lips again.

"Ryan Murphy. Eight and ten years of age. Strict parents. A virgin. Christian, specifically Catholic. I suppose I would say you're welcome, boy, but that entirely depends on what the fuck you want from me." Mama Juli moved on from her impossible knowledge of Ryan as if it wasn't out of the ordinary.

Ryan frowned on confusion. "How do you—"

"Know that? I know things, Ryan Murphy. I know lots of things. It's a talent of mine." She grinned and revealed her gummy mouth.

"D-Do you know why I'm here?" He dared to ask, morbidly, self-destructively determined to see what else Mama Judi could do.

"I can find out."

Quick as a flash she grabbed Ryan's hand over the counter and had pricked his finger with a spike on one of her rings. Before he could even react she was sucking the blood that had beaded out of it.

"Oh God what that fuck?" He yanked his arm back when he deigned to release it from her remarkably strong grip.

"God?" She huffed indignantly. "Ain't no God in here but me, boy. Watch yo' tongue."

"Sorry..." Ryan replied, proud of himself that he hadn't run screaming from the shop as soon as things got weird. Though maybe that wasn't a thing he should be proud of before he got out of the shop in one piece.

She smiled, moving her tongue around her mouth, tasting the coppery blood with all of her focus. "Hmmm... Interesting... Here for something you can use to torment, to bully. To punish...Henry Roberts."

"Yes. Is that...a problem?" Ryan asked apprehensively.

"What? Are you stupid? I'm a witch, dumbass, in case you haven't noticed. You could be wanting to slaughter innocents for all I care. Now tell me: are you looking for a painful experience for ya victim?"

"No! No not at all. I don't want him to be in actual pain, just in extreme discomfort. I want him to be embarrassed." Then what the woman had just said sank in. "Wait. You actually are a witch?"

"Of course I'm a witch. How else do you think I lived this long? A good diet?"

"How old are you?"

"I knew Cleopatra." She said nonchalantly.

"As in Cleopatra the Egyptian Pharaoh?" Ryan asked, incredulous.

"What other goddamn Cleopatra do you know, doofus?"

"You don't look thousands of years old." Ryan said.

"Why thank you. Anyway, I think I've got the perfect tool for you, fuckboy." Mama Judi said.

"Woah. Uncalled for."

"Shut the fuck up, fuckboy. I've lived for thousands of years you think I can't spot a fuckboy by now? I've killed enough of them. They're squealers. You've got the stench of someone who don't text back. Stings the nostrils worse than pig shit." She smiled as she said all this, then she gestured lightly with her hand and something came flying off the shelves. It landed with a soft thud on the counter and she picked it up. "You know what this is, boy?"

"A voodoo doll?"

"No. Voodoo ain't got nout to do with this, neither Louisianan or Haitian. That's a myth perpetuated by yo' shitty popular culture. It's an effigy. If you do something to this doll, it happens to whoever it's focused on. Watch. Just think of the person you want it to latch onto." She held up the wooden doll which was in the shape of a gender-neutral human devoid of any sex. "Ryan Murphy." The wood instantly melted and warped, shifting into a highly detailed model of a completely naked Ryan. It had every minute detail of his face, the exact shape of his torso, his long legs, even his dick, which he was suddenly embarrassed she could see in intense detail. She flicked the effigy in the stomach and Ryan doubled over in pain, nearly vomiting. Embarrassment quickly left him. If felt like he'd just been sucker-punched by a gloveless boxer.

He managed to stand up straight again after few minutes of holding back tears. "Holy fuck, I get the idea! Did you have to fucking do that?"

"I was just showing you how it worked, stop being such a pussy. Now it may look like wood - and it's solid if not in use - but the material bends and warps like human flesh if you do it with intention. Like this—"

"No!" Ryan shouted, stopping her. "I get it."

"Geez. I was only gonna lift your arm." She pulled the doll's arm up slowly at the hingeless joint and Ryan's rose like he was lifting it.

"Woah."

"Woah indeed. This is the perfect item for you, because it can cause pain, pleasure, embarrassment, titillation, anything you want." She ran a nail softly along the bare foot of the doll and Ryan jumped, laughing. Inside of his shoe his foot was being tickled in one big stroke. "Stohohop!" She stopped. "Holy shit, I'll take it. How much?"

Mama Judi pondered for a moment. "A clump of hair."

"Who's hair?"

"Yours, dipshit. Hand it over." She laid out a palm expectantly.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Ryan grimaced for a moment, then shut his eyes and ripped out a clump from the top of his head with a yelp. Frowning, he handed it over.

"Pleasure doing business with you." She handed over the doll and put the hair in a small phial. "By the way. To make the doll release focus, you need to say 'Nulla'. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Also, it is possible to slice through the material. It will just morph back together, but the same can't be said for whichever part of the person you just sliced off. You'd need a knife to do that easily though, so I wouldn't worry."

Ryan gulped. "Thank you. Erm...what are you going to do with my hair?"

"Oh. Nothing. I just wanted to see you do something stupid. Ha!" She started cackling, a deep, malevolent cackle that made the hairs on Ryan's neck stand on end. "Now, shoo."

Ryan didn't need telling twice. He hastened to the door.

Then he briskly made his way home, a playful bounce in his step, excited to play with his new toy...


	2. The Bitch

Ryan placed the doll on his desk with a thunk. He'd said the word to revert it back to a neutral shape (seeing an ominously detailed model of his body was very unnerving) and was ready to test just what the doll could do.

"Jon Murphy." He said, and the doll warped into a model of his older brother. He tried his hardest to get over the nakedness of the doll and crept halfway down the stairs. Jon, Ryan's twenty one year old brother was reclined on the sofa watching tv in a tank and baggy basketball shorts. Ryan experimentally swiped his finger over the head of the doll and simultaneously Jon's hair rustled across his head. The older lad grabbed his hair protectively and brushed it straight, glancing about to see what had caused the sudden movement. Ryan grinned, realising the almost limitless possibilities of the effigy.

He smacked the butt of the doll and Jon leapt up from the sofa with a yelp, clutching his buttocks like he'd been spanked. Ryan did it again and Jon spun angrily, looking for the culprit. "What the fuck?" He said when nobody was there. Ryan had to clamp his hand over his mouth to stop from laughing and being spotted. He blew into the face of the doll and his brother shielded his face against the sudden gale force wind that ruffled his hair and dried his eyes.

After a few more playful tests Ryan was satisfied and turned to go back upstairs, leaving his brother shaken up by the paranormal treatment. Ryan was stopped in his tracks, however, by the memory of Jon holding him down and tickling him until he pissed himself all for going into his room once. The memory (that was only from a few weeks ago) prompted Ryan to huff and flick the doll in the balls before stomping upstairs. Jon's face morphed into one of paralysingly excruciating pain and he fell to his knees, clutching his junk. "...ow." He croaked, in a voice that spoke of the pain all boys can recognise.

"Nulla." Ryan said to the doll and his brothers visage melted away.

Now that he knew the capabilities of his toy he knew what he wanted to do to Henry Roberts. Ryan and Henry had quite the tumultuous relationship...in comparison to every other relationship which was pretty much beef-free (excluding his brothers, but they didn't count).

Their antagonism had started as soon as Ryan laid eyes upon Henry, with his flamboyant movements, his high pitched voice and his...unusual dress sense. Henry was almost always wearing skinny jeans and his old converse sneakers, with a combination of mismatched neon socks and a t-shirt with some obscure band's logo plastered across the front. Why couldn't he wear basketball shorts and Adidas like normal boys? Ryan swore to himself that he didn't hate Henry because he was (obviously) gay, but when he really thought about it...that was the reason. Which made him slightly ashamed, because his parents had (kinda) raised him to be more tolerant (albeit in a very laissez faire manner) and he should knew better...but Henry was just so fucking annoying! In this way their antagonism was fairly one sided. Ryan hated Henry and...Henry didn't know or care.

The incident that had firmly set Ryan on his path of revenge had happened exactly one week ago. For the past two years Ryan had been dating Beth (a very popular girl) whose best friend just so happened to be...Henry. Ryan wasn't too pleased about this when he realised it would mean more time spent with the annoying boy, but he could handle it (just about.) His tolerance of Henry had been evaporated a week ago at Chad's birthday party. Beth has chosen it as the perfect time to break up with Ryan, and Henry had thought it appropriate to chip in.

"Don't be too sad, Ry. She was kinda out of your league anyway."

Ryan stared at the doll with a grin on his face and fire in his eyes.

Revenge would be sweet.

-

Henry slipped his phone back into his pocket after quickly checking his snapchat. No messages.

He was walking through the park, his normal cut through from his house to the high street. He whistled as he walked, idly listening his music. The sun was high in the sky and the park was fairly full, but mainly of the usual dog walkers and joggers.

-

Ryan watched from his position in the bushes as his target approached, feather twisting in his fingers idly.

"Get ready, poof. This is gonna be a wild ride."

-

A quick and fleeting tingle shot down Henry's back and he stopped, the rhythm of his walking disturbed by the electric sensation. He reached under his backpack and scratched his back, although the feeling had left as quickly as it had come.

He carried on walking for a few seconds then stopped again. There it was again, that feeling. It was like a wave of sensation rolling down his back. He would have dismissed it as one of those weird shivers you get...but the feeling was definitely on his skin.

"Eww!" He exclaimed, the idea filling his head that some kind of insect had made its way into his clothes. As surreptitiously as possible he shook the back of his shirt; nothing fell out and he couldn't feel anything else...

Cautiously he carried on walking and then shivered violently as another tingle shot down his back. "For fucks sake!" He whispered, scratching his back. Was he going crazy?

No, there it was again, a devilishly light tingle on his skin. He could pinpoint exactly where it was now; circling lightly on the small of his back. It made his muscles twitch in reaction and he reached back to scratch it furiously but as he reached it the tingle moved. It floated round his torso and onto his stomach, still circling lightly.

With a sense of dread Henry realised the sensations weren't just tingles, they...tickled. His eyes widened as he clamped his hands on his stomach in fear. The tickle stayed there, titillating his skin even where his hands pressed into it. "Jesus H. Christ." He said, briskly walking over to a bench and sitting down so not as to appear like a crazy person grabbing themselves in public. The tickling was getting stronger, spiralling in broad strokes around his bellybutton. He lifted his shirt and glared at his stomach seeing absolutely nothing that could be causing the tickling, but he could sure as hell trace the feeling. It tickled like a feather was being lightly dragged around his slightly rounded stomach, making his skin itch with sensation, but not enough to make him laugh.

Until the sensation slipped into his belly button.

"Ohfuhuhuck!" Henry chuckled, fiercely trying to hold in his laughter. He would not be known as the freak who laughed to himself in the park. He knew how the bitchy suburban moms who walked their poodles in the park worked: rumours would spread like Hayden Price's Chlamydia at his gathering-turned-orgy (Don't ask).

But alas he couldn't hold it all in: his bellybutton was extremely ticklish and whatever the fuck this sensation was it was making sure to remind him. It spun violently in his navel, invisible feathery strands tormenting the hyper soft skin in it. "Hahahahaha." The laugh slipped out as he desperately fingered his navel to try and alleviate the feeling, but it remained like a phantom, determined to tickle him.

Eventually the sensation left his navel and started fluttering up and down his sides, flanks and ribs. "No! Fuuhuhuhuhuckhahahahaha!" Despite his best efforts, the tickling (the source of which he didn't have much time to think about) coaxed his laughter out of him. Some dog walkers were throwing him strange looks from across the grassy expanse of the park, probably thinking he was laughing hysterically at some joke. That idea wouldn't last if his strained laughter continued much longer. The invisible feather was relentless on his sides. He clutched them like he was being jabbed and prodded by a group of (in his fantasies) remarkably handsome shirtless jocks, but the reality was much more terrifying (and a lot less arousing). Some kind of satanic ghost feather was making an absolute fool of him in the park. What an anecdote this would be when it was over. If it ever ended.

Henry clamped his hand over his mouth against the onslaught of laughter as the tickles increased in speed, but it didn't do much. Besides, he could only keep his hand there for a few seconds before it yearned to go back to clutching his side in placebo tickle-relief.

From the sides and flanks the phantom tickles floated their way up his torso until they landed in his armpits. Even though they were clamped shut it felt like feathers were being run all over wide open pits. "Fuckckchahahaha!" Henry cackled, cursing himself for always keeping his armpits shaved. The smooth skin must have made it so easy for the feathers to glide over his skin...but, then again, this was a seemingly magical experience (which Henry hadn't yet come to terms with) so perhaps his shaving habits made no difference. Whatever the case Henry just knew that it tickled like a bitch. "Pahahahaha!" Making the executive decision that he couldn't stay cackling on a bench any longer he got up awkwardly (walking while being tickled is remarkable difficult, folks) and started for the bushes.

Before he could get anywhere close, however, the sensation dropped from his armpits, back down his sides, over his hips, past his groin, down his inner thighs, shins... "No!" Henry exclaimed, realising where the feathers were heading too late. They stroked over the top of his pale feet inside his neon converse and then slipped underneath to his soft soles. Henry (and I'm not exaggerating, readers) collapsed to the ground with the sensation and began cackling in an extremely high pitched manner. His feet were his most ticklish spot by far, infinitely worse than anywhere else on his body. Henry had such ticklish feet that he even made his boyfriends swear on their mother's life that they would follow one simple rule: Don't tickle Henry's feet. Any other place on his body was fine - he understood that tickling was a bonding experience, yada yada yada - but trace so much as one nail down his soles and you would be broken up with, with immediate effect.

Now he was here writhing on the floor as ghostly feathers weaved up and down his feet brutally, feathers that could not be broken up with, or even pleaded with. He had to just lie there and take it. "HAHAHAHAHA!"

It felt like millions of tiny feathers had sneaked their way into his socks and were having their way with his ultra-sensitive feet. To his visceral dismay the sensation made its way in between his bubbly toes, an even more sensitive spot. Henry, of course, SCREAMED in response, drawing the concerned and alarmed stares of joggers and dog-walkers.

After a few minutes of hoping, begging, even praying to a God he didn't believe in that the feathers would move elsewhere he gave in and frantically unlaced his converse with fumbling fingers, laughing like an insane person all the while. He ripped off his Spongebob socks with a grunt, unveiling his pasty feet to the sunlight. He ran his fingers up and down the soles, which were tingling with sensation, to no alleviation. If anything his fingers added even more sensation to an already dire situation, so he ceased immediately. As a last resort he lay down flat on his back and began to rub his soles on the cool grass, as embarrassing as it was. No alleviation.

The sensation became too much and he just stayed on his back, head thrown back, cackling like a madman at feathers that weren't there. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

A jogger cautiously approached him, a handsome young man who Henry would have ogled at had he not been laughing helplessly one the ground. "Are you ok, kid?"

How was he going to respond to that? "IHIHIHI'MMMFIHIHIHIHINNNNEEEEE!"

"Are you sure? I can get help if you want."

If his face hadn't already been beetroot red from all the laughing he would have flushed from embarrassment. Being asked if he needed help by a super hot guy while guffawing on the grass, barefoot and sweaty. Henry had never been more embarrassed in his whole life.

"NOHOHOHOHOHOHO! PLEAHAHAHAHAHAHASSSEEEEE! JUHUHUHSTTTTGOHOHOHOHOHO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!" Henry begged, desperate for the conversation to end.

Luckily the jogger finally gave in. "Okay...see ya." He jogged off.

Henry banged his fists on the ground in frustration and pure ticklishness. His poor feet were being tickled ruthlessly teased and he could do nothing about it.

Minutes later the sensation stopped and Henry nearly wept with relief, gulping down air like a fish out of water.

-

Ryan lifted the feather from the effigy's feet, satisfied that the annoying boy had been sufficiently embarrassed. He released the doll's hold on Henry and it slipped back into its neutral shape. He put it and the feathers into his backpack.

Now to rub salt in the wound.

As casually as possible, Ryan sloped from the bushes and approached Henry, who was still lying on the floor, panting deeply with sweat on his brow, feet still tantalisingly vulnerable.

"Henry? Is that you?"

-

Henry's stomach dropped. He sat up onto his elbows and stared up at Ryan Murphy (of all goddamn people!).

"Oh...hey, Ryan."

"What are you doing on the floor? Are you ok?"

"Yep...yep...I'm fine, thanks. Just...having a rest."

"A rest...? Did you lose your shoes?" Ryan asked, gesturing at his bare feet, luminously pale in the daylight.

"Oh no, they're just over there." He replied, gesturing to where they had been thrown in his ticklish fit, along with his socks. He was so embarrassed he couldn't even make eye contact for two seconds straight with the sporty boy looming above him.

"Cool, cool... Any particular reason or...?"

Henry wracked his tired brain for a good excuse. "I got really hot."

"Ok...sick..." Ryan said, obviously perplexed and sceptical. "Well...see you at school, Henry."

"Uh...yeah. See you at school, I guess."

-

Ryan walked away from the flamboyant boy with a shit-eating grin on his face. He could practically taste the humiliation Henry had felt at being found like that by a peer and it tasted sweet.

"Payback's a bitch, bitch." He muttered.

-

Henry picked up he shoes and socks bashfully, slipped them on and walked home as quickly as possible, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened to him.

"Goddamnit!" Why did Ryan have to show up and make it a million times worse. If this got around school he didn't know what he'd do...

But, at least, if it did, he knew who was responsible...


	3. The Switch

Psssssst.

Henry flinched at the small hissing noise in his ear and turned around to find nobody around. He rolled his eyes. Some stupid prank. Probably one of the jocks being an asshole...but how they had gotten up close to him without making any noise was a mystery. Maybe they had crept from between the bookshelves of the library and then sprinted back. Yeah. That was it. Henry got back to his revision.

Pssssssssst.

There it was again, a serpentine hiss, except longer this time. More insistent.

"Hello?" Henry whispered to no one in particular, mindful to stay quiet so he didn't get thrown out on his ass by Cressida the librarian.

Fucking finally. Goddamn! Do you always take this long to answer a telepathic message?

Henry went pale. The voice came from...everywhere, including inside his head, but nobody else in the library was reacting. He responded anyway: it may have been surreal but his momma didn't raise no rude boy. "A what?" He whispered.

A telepathic message! Goddamn humans, I swear to all things unholy y'all are so damn stupid! And stop whispering! Have you even looked around? Use your eyes, boy, your eyes!

Henry glanced around at the disembodied voice's command and his mouth dropped. Upon closer inspection the students in the library weren't ignoring the voice, they were frozen. Fred Sparks was staring unblinkingly at a textbook and Jessica Hawthorne was frantically trying to silence her phone while Cressida marched towards her, both completely frozen in their tracks, along with a dozen other people.

"You did this?" Henry asked, louder now, unsure as to WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK WAS GOING ON.

No, the other voice did it. Of course I did it dumbass! I want to talk to you!

"Who are you?"

Mama Judi. The Witch. Yes, I'm really a witch, yes this is really happening. Enough fucking questions. I'm just here to tell you something that you might find interesting? Has anything...out of the ordinary...happened to you recently?

Henry frowned. Surely she couldn't mean...

"Yes. I was tickled in the park by some sort of fucking invisible feather."

Ha! I knew he'd do something like that. Well, someone who's not too fond of you used an effigy to tickle you. That's what happened.

"Effigy?"

Mama Judi sighed, a deep an weary sigh.

A voodoo doll.

"Oh." Henry said. Then the information hit him. "What?! Someone did that to me? Tickled me? Who?" Henry demanded, furious at the realisation that his encounter at the park had been maliciously orchestrated.

The voice didn't respond, but the air in the library dropped to a freezing temperature and a furious wind started to spiral above Henry, blowing his hair this way and that, though nothing else in the library moved. Then his books flew off the desk and a flame seared it's way across the graffitied wood. Henry nearly cried out at the sudden supernatural intensity of the event but before he could it all stopped. The temperature returned to normal. The wind stopped. The fire had gone out. And there, seared into the desk in a charred black scrawl was a name.

Ryan Murphy.

"That little shit!" Henry exclaimed, barely able to think straight through his blinding fury. He had been humiliated in public, in front of that hot jogger, tickled to tears, all because of Ryan Murphy?

You want revenge?

"Fuck yes!"

Henry could hear the smile in the disembodied voice. Then listen closely.

-

The changing room was deserted when Henry entered, which he was simultaneously glad and disappointed at. A bunch of sweaty shirtless jocks wouldn't have been such a bad sight to lighten his mood. But, alas, they were all still on the football field in gym class. Including Ryan Murphy.

Henry walked with a skip in his step and a smile on his face. The large room was humid from the showers and smelled of men, but it wasn't the most repulsive thing he'd ever smelled. Following the numbers on the lockers he made his way to 217, which opened for him when he walked towards it thanks to his new friend Mama Judi.

Henry shoved Ryan's clothes out of the way and grabbed his black backpack. After a few seconds of digging he found it, solid and dark: the effigy. A feeling of euphoria passed over him as he contemplated the revenge he could exact with the object in his hand. Mama Judi had told him how to work it, and he intended to use it to it's full extent.

He pocketed the statue, replaced the bag and clothes and slammed the locker, fleeing the scene before he was ambushed by the returning gym class. That would not be pretty.

Anyway, Henry now had more important things to do.

He had a plan to make.

-

Ryan traipsed into the changing room, sweaty and exhausted. He yanked off his football jersey and started unlacing his boots, then kicked them off. Around him his friends were play fighting with each other, slapping each other on their bare backs, among other things that testosterone-filled men get up to for fun.

"Just get changed, Reynolds. Unless you've got something for feeling Jake's body?" Coach Klein berated mockingly.

Chad Reynolds blushed and moved away as the rest of the boys jeered at him, Ryan included. There was no greater humiliation than being though if as gay, of course.

Ryan grabbed his towel from his locker after stripping and headed towards the showers, where everyone else had started scampering when Jay started towel-whipping them. Then he stopped. He hadn't left his shoes on top of his clothes in his locker when he first got changed. Why would he? He always put them at the bottom to keep his clothes clean. Then an icy cold thought slithered into his mind, chilling him to his core.

Someone had been in his locker.

He practically sprinted back to the red cabinet, nearly dropping his towel in his flustered haste. He grabbed his bag and tore open the zip, frantically rummaging about inside. It was still in there. It had to be. Had to be!

It wasn't.

The effigy was gone.

Ryan's stomach dropped to the floor. The most powerful object he had ever owned was gone, snatched by some unknown thief. Nobody could have known what locker was his, let alone that he'd had the effigy in his bag. Let alone that he'd had the effigy at all. "Fuck!" He exclaimed, punching the locker shut.

Shellshocked, he slowly made his way to the showers as the gravity of his situation dawned on him. He felt...exposed, and not because of his lack of clothes; his weapon was gone and he was back to being a normal person, vulnerable and with a distinct lack of magical objects.

Surely it couldn't have been Henry that took it. He was the only person who he'd used the effigy against, excluding his brother, but how could he possible have known about it? Maybe it was a coincidence. Someone just stole it thinking it was valuable. Yeah, that was it.

His denial felt slightly more comfortable than imagining Henry being the thief and getting his revenge, so he forced himself to believe it. Still, with a feeling of dread in his stomach he stepped into the hot water surrounded by his equally tired peers and hoped that it would wash away his fear, along with his sweat.

It didn't.

-

Three weeks had passed since his effigy was stolen and Ryan had just about gotten over it. Kinda.

His nerves were finally settled, and his desperate belief that the effigy hadn't been nicked by Henry was confirmed by the lack of brutal revenge that had been thrust upon him, so he was relaxed.

Still, he mourned the loss of the effigy. He'd never held such power in his hands and now that he didn't have it he realised how little he'd taken advantage of it. He could have tortured Henry every day, making him squeal for mercy like the little bitch he was, even when nobody was looking. He smiled, imagining Henry waking up in the middle of the night with the feeling of a feather trailing down his foot, and then everywhere on his body. But it was gone, so he tried to forget about it as much as possible.

Sighing, he walked to his car in the school parking lot and drove home.

-

Henry smiled.

In just three weeks he had created a masterpiece. His magnum opus. The ultimate revenge. Seven years of getting straight A's in wood shop had finally paid off.

The board was lying in front of him, no bigger than an A4 piece of paper. Wooden blocks fastened to it created a brace for the effigy, one that made sure it was in the perfect place and the perfect position to be in reach of the tools. Four small motors were screwed to the wood, two at the feet and two pointed at the wide open armpits, with their wires all neatly funnelled off the board and into a single plug for maximum efficiency. Attached to them currently were small feathers that would rotate rapidly if he turned on the power, but the ones on the feet could be swapped out for two modified Barbie hairbrushes from Henry's sister's room.

The effigy could be taken out of the frame if he wanted to do anything else with it, but optional restraints on the wrists and ankles also created the possibility of completely immobilising Ryan.

Henry was quite sure that he'd never crafted anything so evil before   
Henry was quite sure that he'd never crafted anything so evil before.

And he'd never been so proud of himself.

He inserted the genderless effigy, leaving the restraints undone so as to let Ryan move about as normal. Henry then checked his watch. 4:15pm. Ryan would have just arrived home.

"Ryan Murphy." Henry said, and the effigy morphed into a perfect replica of the lad.

And then, with a tray full of tools beside him, Henry started to wreak some havoc...

-

"Hi, honey." His mom called from the living room.

"Hi." He sighed, as always.

Kicking off his shoes, Ryan clunked upstairs, lugging his heavy school bag after him. Joe was in his room, blasting music as usual. Rolling his eyes, Ryan dropped his bag by his desk, shut the door and flopped onto his bed, exhausted from school. Fridays were always tiring; he had PE last, so that always knocked it out of him.

Yawning, he lazily reached to scratch an itch on his nipple and then closed his eyes, deciding to take a nap before dinner was called.

However, the itch on his nipple just would not be sated. He scratched it harder, then rubbed it angrily when the feeling wouldn't leave. "Fucking thing." Then, suddenly, a revolting, sickening, stomach turning, life-ruining realisation dawned on Ryan.

It didn't itch.

It tickled.

"No no no! Fuck!" He leapt off the bed and ran to lock his door before anyone walked in on him reacting to what he knew was coming. As if on cue the tickling on his nipple spread out across his chest in one big feathery stroke and he yelped, panicking, searching frantically for a way to prevent the inevitable. Oh god, it felt horrible. Thousands, millions of invisible feathery strands were dragging themselves across the skin of his torso repeatedly, titillating every possible nerve ending, his nipples islands of hyper-sensitivity in a sea of ticklishness.

"Fuhuhuhuhck!" He giggled, laughing like a child. Through his laughter, Ryan forced himself to think rationally. If it was Henry who was getting his revenge then it wasn't likely to end before his mom called him to dinner, and it was likely to get worse from here. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and pulled up messages.

Mom, I'm gonna skip dinner tonight. Feeling really tired so gonna have an early night. He texted her, fingers typing rapidly.

Ok, hun. She replied instantly.

He threw his phone onto his bed and began grabbing towels from his hamper and stuffing them into the crack below his bedroom door, desperate to muffle the sounds of his laughter from his family.

Speaking of, the feathers ceased their torture of his chest and slithered down past his groin, making him shriek wildly as they passed the ultra ticklish skin that resides there, and then reached their destination of his muscly thighs. The fluttering on the rarely touched skin made his body react viscerally, jumping desperately away from the source as if it was something that could be escaped from. Ryan knew better.

"Hahahahahaha!" He cackled as the feather swiped up and down, up and down, up and down, again and again and again. It was becoming harder to concentrate as his laughter became more and more desperate. He hopped over to his closet desperately searching for something he could muffle his laughter with. Throwing clothes over his shoulder he dug and dug in the jumbled mess of his closet, unable to find anything small enough. He was giggling constantly now, the feathers on his thighs tormenting the whole length, from the tops of his knees all the way up to the skin surrounding his junk. He prayed to God that whoever was doing the tickling would have an ounce of mercy and spare his crotch area from feathery abuse: nothing would be able to stop his shrieks if the sensations were focused there.

When it became clear that his closet had nothing to offer Ryan stood up and spun on the spot. Then he spotted it, and cursed himself for not thinking of it before; the underwear drawer. Some socks would be in there, surely, and if not his underwear would do in a pinch. They were washed, right? Ryan couldn't be certain, but he'd done grosser things in his life if it really came to that.

Ryan started hobbling across the room, walking becoming increasingly difficult due to the mighty distraction on his thighs.

-

Henry smiled a serene smile, his head filled with images of Ryan Murphy in ticklish agony, writhing on the floor in front of his family, shrieking with laughter. The wronged boy twirled the feather up and down the effigy's legs, making sure to get into the crevices at the top of the thigh: he knew from experience that they were real sweet spots.

After a while, Henry decided it was time for the big finale, the ultimate torture.

Henry plugged in the wire that connected to all the motors, still trailing the feathers up the thighs.

Henry smiled, sighed, took a sip of his drink...

...and flipped the switch.

-

Ryan was halfway to the underwear drawer when he fell to his knees. Out of nowhere feathers had started fluttering violently against his underarms and feet simultaneously. The combined sensation was so intense that he had collapsed to the floor, cackling like a madman.

"OOHOHOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" He tried to continue by crawling but could barely attempt it before falling flat against the carpet in peals of laughter. It was the worst thing he had ever experienced. The chest tickling had been bad, the thigh tickling had been worse, but this, this was excruciating. The previous attacks had been slow, teasing and calculated, trailing ticklish strands across his flesh in a torturous, yet bearable way. This new assault was nothing like that.

Feathers spun relentlessly, brutally across his feet and armpits as if they were both bare and spread wide for easy access.

"PLEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHSEEEE!" He screamed, even though he knew his assailant couldn't hear him, and wouldn't take heed even if they could. "PLEAHAHAHAHAHASEEE! STOHOHOHOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHP! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Shit. Through the sensory bombardment Ryan seriously hoped his family hadn't heard him begging. That would be hard to explain.

Even though he knew that it would do nothing, as it had done nothing for Henry before him, Ryan frantically pulled each ankle towards him, bared his feet by yanking the socks off and started rubbing them, desperate for even a single second of relief.

It did nothing. As predicted.

The sensation carried on as if nothing had happened, as if the feathers had full authority over his soles, and his pits for good measure. "FUHUHUHUHCK!" He exclaimed, his back and pits starting to sweat from the physical exertion the tickling was putting him through. After a few more minutes of writhing on the floor, desperately trying to contain his laughter Ryan's will broke and he started cackling in earnest, tears flooding from his eyes. "AHAHAHAHAHA!"

Weak and sweaty, Ryan knew that his punishment wasn't ending any time soon and eventually, if he didn't do something, his family would become so alarmed that they'd brake down his door. Using the last of his strength he clawed his way across the floor to the closest things he could use as a gag.

He gripped his discarded socks and shoved them in his mouth. Thankfully they muffled his laughter enough that it wouldn't be alarming anymore, so he flopped his limbs out and just stayed there, lying on the floor, screaming into his improvised gag, waiting for his torture to end.

Hoping his torture would end.

Praying his torture would end.

-

"Dinner, Henry!" His mom shouted from downstairs.

"Coming!" He shouted back. Then, watching his creation do it's job perfectly, he faced a serious moral dilemma. Should he turn off the torture device while he was downstairs, or leave it on for Ryan to be duly punished? Dinner would probably take around...40 minutes? More if they got into a longer discussion around the dinner table. Did he really have the heart to let Henry suffer for so long?

He switched of his bedroom light as he headed downstairs, the gentle hum of the motors still filling his bedroom, memories of his ordeal in the park replaying in his head.

Yes. Yes he did.

-

Ryan didn't remember passing out, but he sure as hell remembered waking up.

He was sprawled on his carpet, barefoot and sweaty, and tired. Mercifully the tickles on his feet and armpits had stopped, though Ryan could have sworn the feeling was lingering like a bad smell. Still, he could have cried with relief. He must have been sprawled on his floor being tickled for at least an hour and a half. He got up onto his knees and steadied himself against the bed, pulling out two sodden socks from his mouth with a grimace on his face.

Ryan threw them in the general direction of the laundry hamper and lethargically trotted over to the bed to check his phone. 11:45pm, it read. He groaned, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.

"That was...hell." He muttered to himself. He collapsed onto his soft bed, mind racing with one thought.

It must have been Henry who had tickled him. That was the only reasonable explanation.

You tickled him first. A small voice in his head piped up, but he squashed the thought like a gnat. 

Before he could think about what to do with this realisation, he slipped into a deep, deep sleep on top of his covers.

For some reason, his dreams were full of feathers and dolls that night.


End file.
